


The Price of Intimacy

by lexicalacuna



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Business AU, F/M, Fluffy, Modern World AU, Smut, Violence, non con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexicalacuna/pseuds/lexicalacuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Modern day AU] Loki Odinson is the "spare" in the ranks of Asgard Enterprises, and he's had a particularly shitty day, and he needs some comfort, a distraction, and what better place than the local pleasurehouse, where little Darcy Lewis is just trying to make ends meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything from MCU or Thor.
> 
> Also, this is un-beta'd- all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Written on a whim, so sorry if there are weird lapses or developments.
> 
> Rather smutty, slightly fluffy. I don't even know. Enjoy-?

**The Price of Intimacy**  
  
Loki cursed, momentarily lapsing into Norse as his secretary spilled his venti over his suit, her stuttered apology insufficient to quell the swell of anger thrumming through him.  
  
The day was already a test to his tenuous patience: the meeting with the Japanese associate was testy, technical and unnecessarily tense, with the man nitpicking at every detail, leaving Loki crochety, terse and verging on impolite. The lunch at the nearby bistro was disappointing, with a lumpy parmesan polenta and a diluted Negroni that left a bad taste in his mouth. The late afternoon was no better, with a board meeting with a group of pompous senior executives who spent invested more time and funds in cosmetic dentistry and Armani pocket squares than their portfolios. It wasn’t that they were incompetent- vain, was the word. But they were closely involved with the older brother, so what could one do but sit aside, teeth gritted, fists clenched.  
  
Loki Odinson was no stranger to being overworked. As the Senior Strategist and CFO of Asgard Enterprises, he was exposed to a dizzying panoply of personalities and tasks, with his routine settling into a challenging tedium that left him on edge, testy.  
  
Naturally, there was always shoulder rubbing and derriere kissing at this level, but nothing compared to the pomp and glamour of Thor’s position, the potential successor of Asgard Enterprises, and the son of Odin, head honcho of the massive company.  
  
It was announced today, that Thor was to takeover, despite the fact that his _dazzling_ intellect and business acumen would undoubtedly land the company figures in unfathomable depths of numerical destitution. He took the news with a sharp inhalation of air, clapping stiffly along with the other board members, suppressing an eye roll at the emetic sight of the dark haired executive, Sif, grinning foolishly at Thor, who let out a loud shout of elation.  
  
No one noticed his early departure.  
_____  
  
Loki inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing slightly as he drew himself up to his full height. Despite not having the bulk of his fair haired brother, his lean figure was curiously imposing, leaving the secretary shrinking away, scurrying back to her desk to leave his now half empty venti cup on her desk as she fetches a few tissues, trying to dab at his suit.  
  
He bats her hand away with a strange strangled sound of disgust, moving back to his office to retrieve his briefcase before storming out, a quivering secretary in his wake.  
  
_____  
  
The horrid day wasn’t the only thing that left Loki stressed and terse- he had an itch to scratch, and there were civilized ways to settle such an urge.  
  
Loki stopped his car outside the nondescript looking store front, a settlement in dark shades of violet and crimson. He parks, glancing around before pushing the door open, into the brothel.  
  
______

 

Darcy had never considered herself quite sexy. Sure, her breasts were definitely larger than usual, pushing a double D, with a divine softness and pert nipples that left men slobbering in perverse supplication, rearing to latch onto them.  
  
But she was never quite skinny, slim- not unlike the lithe, willowy blondes and the exotic redheads here, what with their flawless bronzed complexions, taut stomachs and perky tits.  
  
Well, yeah, perhaps she could pass for curvy, the way her body was structured like a slightly oversized Gil Elvgren pinup girl. Her lips were pretty damn decent too, especially with a coat of M.A.C lipstick- that got the guys looking too.  
  
But there was another reason why Darcy was never as popular as Sierra, or Chantelle, or Dayeisha.  
  
Darcy had a very dirty mouth. Not at all referring to her stunning ability to deepthroat, no, but she was crude, loud mouthed and witty.  
  
Men come here to slake their thirsts, Madame often scolded her. Not to be reminded of the drudgery of their real lives, the fat wife back home, the empty marriage, the cold home- they came here, to be fed a cocktail of wild passion, escapism- anything they wanted.  
  
Darcy challenged that, shattering their fantasies with simple sentences, highlighting aspects of life that the men were running from.  
  
But she had heart, passion, and amazing tits, Madame reasoned- she was worth the trouble. But that being said- she shouldn’t go around fucking with the men the wrong way.  
  
She sighs, adjusting the corset, a delectable red and crimson number that accentuated her curves, her boobs spilling out over the top, creating a sumptuous view of her generous cleavage. She wore satin panties, her dark chestnut hair loose and cascading over her shoulders, eyes darkened with mascara and a swipe of liner, lips stained a rich cherry.  
 _  
This pays for rent, for tuition_ \- so be it, she thought, as she ruffled her hair, slipping into a pair of slightly battered Louboutins, hand me downs from an old girl who eloped with one of the clients. Last they heard, she found herself in Minnesota, 2 kids. A miracle, given this industry.  
  
___  
  
“Any girl. Make sure she’s beautiful, willing, make it happen,” Loki snarled as he entered the reception area, the chattering girls there falling silent. His presence was always something that silenced them- he was one of their best and worst clients.  
  
He was stern, demanding- but undeniably attractive, a big spender.  
  
“Mr. Odinson,” Madame cooed, coming forward to greet him, never missing a beat. “Of course, your usual room then?” she prompted, gesturing for him to follow her, nodding at another girl to prepare the suite in question.  
  
He grunted in response, following suit, ignoring the nervous tittering behind him, trailing down the long corridor.  
______  
  
“You’re up, newbie ” came the curt notice from the redhead, and Darcy sighs, refreshing her lipstick, taking a sip of the cheap Chianti they kept around, before rising from her small stool by the dresser, moving out of the common room and to her new client.  
  
She wasn’t nervous, no.  She had been doing this for a month, almost two? Bitch was fine. It’s just….Darcy purses her lips, smoothing down the creases in her corset as she heads to the usual room.  
  
“No, not there, The Paragon,” the redhead interjects, redirecting her, her tone reeking of envy, derision.  
  
Darcy’s eyes widened slightly- she had never had anyone there. The rates were higher so- wow, this was quite the job. She walked a little faster, now admitting that she was nervous, but also a little excited.  
  
________  
  
After a bit of waiting, Madame led him into a dark room with a massive circular bed, the warm lights shrouded with crimson and pink silks, the sheets a deep shade of viridian satin and smelling of patchouli and rose.  
  
The Paragon was not a regular room, cotton sheets slightly damp, smelling of the past occupants’ combined fluids and sweat.  
  
This room was the largest, the most expensive in the establishment, and Loki was a frequent patron, going so far as to request specific scents, sheets.  
  
“Get cosy, and have fun,” Madame greeted, closing the door behind him, not awaiting any reply from Loki.  
  
She didn’t care for his pleasantries- only that he was pleasured, that he paid, and that he returned.  
_________  
  
 _This is it_ , Darcy thought, staring at the rich mahogany door, steeling herself and inhaling deeply before pushing the door open, sashaying through.  
  
“Hey,” Darcy greeted, appearing by the doorway at the back of the room, leaning heavily against the doorframe, her long curls falling to the peak of her breasts, eyes dark and sultry, lips plump.  
  
__________  
  
Loki’s head snaps to the source of the voice, turning to face her, eyes widening slightly.  
  
He had never seen this one before.  
  
They usually sent him the blondes, the skinny, catty ones who occasionally faked orgasms, bright red talons aimlessly scratching at him, irritating him more than anything, forcing him to pin their hands above them.  
  
But this one…his eyes darkened, roving over her figure.  
  
She was a Vision, he mused, his gaze slowly sweeping over her, taking in every inch of her voluptuous figure. She had a full figure, luscious curves and luminous skin, her breasts large, her thighs soft..  
  
His gaze flickers upward, studying her features. She had long, soft looking curls, falling over the plump swell of her beautiful breasts, so nicely encased in the shell of satin and silk. Her eyes were darkened with black, her lips a delectable shade of crimson.  
  
 _Such full, kissable lips_ …he thought, feeling himself harden already as he rose to move towards her, blazer already shrugged off, his shirt partially unbuttoned.  
  
________  
  
 _Fuck,_ Darcy thought, as she appraised him. This man was tall, but not just that- he was attractive, damnit.  
  
He was probably the one the twig bitches were complaining about, she realized- “the dark skinny bastard.” This was the infamous Loki Odinson.  But dear lord, were they mistaken.  
  
This man was hot- what, with those crazy cheekbones, those smouldering green eyes, so lucid and intelligent, like shards of glittering emerald, his skin pale but smooth, unblemished and… _Beautiful,_ Darcy thought, as he came closer.  
  
Sure, he was slim, but he was by no means skinny. With his shirt unbuttoned, she saw a thin dusting of soft black hairs and the clear line of defined pecs, and the familiar silhouette of abs, his shoulders broad. No, this man cut an intimidating figure. And he was hot, Darcy realized, as she felt the familiar pricks of arousal rise and settle in her gut, twisting and hopping. It wasn’t a familiar feeling, not one felt so early on in the assignment.  
  
“Are you just going to stand there?”  
  
His voice interrupted her musings, and she felt a strange well of arousal and annoyance. And yes, of course he had a British accent.  
  
“Why? Do you want me to kneel? Because that’s extra,” she responded defiantly, slowly approaching him, putting a little more sway into her walk. Sure he was hot, but no way in hell was that getting in the way of her paycheque.    
  
She stops in front of him, staring up at him as her fingers smoothly slide down his shirt, undoing his buttons, pushing back the shirt, unwittingly letting out a small gasp as it reveals his strong pectoral muscles, the chiseled definition of his upper body.  
  
He smirks at her reaction, her response both naïve yet endearing.  
  
“Don’t tell me they’ve sent me a virgin,” he says with no little sarcasm, arching a brow at her response, his hands coming to rest on her hips, unable to risk touching her, feeling himself twitch as he feels the warm curves of her body.  
  
Darcy tries not to let it show- that his hands feel kind of fucking amazing on her hips, and that she wants those hands elsewhere.  
  
She snorts derisively, hands shifting lower, palming the thick bulge in the front of his pants before reaching for his belt buckle, working it free.  
  
“Honey, do you think any of the girls here are?” she asked, her voice equally derogatory, challenging, her gaze flickering up to meet his.  
  
“Because if that’s what you’re told, get a refund,” she retorted, ripping the belt loose and tossing it aside, fingers swiftly tugging his zip downward, rubbing at the wet spot in his dark grey underwear.  
  
“Enough- kneel,” he hisses, unable to surpress his mounting arousal, her banter simultaneously aggravating yet arousing.  
  
“Of course,” she simpers, unable to keep her tone non-sardonic, slowly sinking to her knees, shifting her chest so he got a nice view, tugging his pants and undies down as she did so.  
  
  
 _Holy shit,_ she thought, his large, engorged member already dripping, twitching slightly.  
  
She grips it, marveling at how his length _and_ girth was, before she slowly starts to suckle at the tip, taking in all of his pre cum, her tongue darting out to run along his slit.  
  
He hisses, hips bucking slightly as she works on him. It was almost surprising, how this girl knew exactly what he liked- maybe they swappe no- he gasps, thoughts cut short as she takes more of him into her mouth, letting out a wanton moan as he goes deeper, hitting the back of her throat.  
  
He cannot help it- he lets out a low groan, hands coming to thread through her hair, gently gripping her scalp. It seems that words weren’t the only thing dirty about this girl’s mouth.  
  
He closes his eyes, willing his knees not to buckle as she works him, the tip hitting the back of her throat, her moaning, the way those small, warm hands of hers massages his balls, that small bunch of skin between that and his pucker.  
  
He feels them tighten, and he draws out of her abruptly, eyes blown with lust, panting slightly.  
  
“Bed, now,” he says raggedly, kicking off his shoes and the pool of his pants around his ankles, turning to face her.  
  
She acquiesces, shakily standing up and moving to the bed and plopping herself down, slowly kicking off her own footwear. He watches her, mesmerized.  
  
She was an insolent little cur, granted, but she was utterly wanton and delectable.  
  
He moved forward, kneeling on the bed as he appraised her.  
  
“Strip,” he says hoarsely, watching her intently.  
  
She sits up, tugging at the black ribbon at the small of her back, the corset loosening its vice on her, eventually coming loose, and she slowly slides it aside, her eyes coming up to meet his.  
  
He makes a strange, strangle sound at the back of his throat, reaching forward to fondle her breast.  
  
 _Always the tits,_ Darcy thought smugly, letting out a soft gasp when he tweaks her nipple, fingers trailing along the sensitive undersides of her breast.  
  
“Such beautiful breasts,” he murmurs, fingers moving to fondle with the other, before he reaches down to her hips, hooking his thumbs under the thin string of fabric, slowly sliding the satin and lace off.  
  
She doesn’t realize how wet she is until the cool, scented air hits her privates, and she bites on her lip, eyes fluttering a little as she glances down.  
  
“And such a sleek cunt,” he marvels, running a finger through her wet folds, slowly inserting the finger into his mouth, sucking the moisture off.  
  
 _Fuuuuuuck,_ Darcy thought, eyes watching his every movement, feeling her nipples harden, the creeping chill of arousal prickling her breasts.  
  
He leans forward capturing her mouth in a hot, searing kiss, tongue sliding across her lower lip, pushing into the wet sanctuary of her mouth, seeking out her tongue.  
  
She makes a strange sound of protest, before shoving at him, pushing him away.  
  
“No,” she hisses, shaking her head. “That’s not part of the deal.”  
  
Loki snarls, gritting his teeth.  
  
Of course.  
  
That aspect.  
  
The establishment stocked the best girls- beautiful, skilled- but there was a simple rule to go buy- no money, no honey.  
  
Both client and vendor were well aware of this.  
  
No kissing, no spooning- nothing..well, unless you paid extra.  
  
Wham, bam, thank you ma’am- that’s it. Anything else came with a price tag.  
  
Like toppings, Madame reasoned, little useless sprinklings don’t come free.  
  
“No, none of that,” Darcy said stubbornly, glaring up at the dark haired man between hers legs.  
  
“Do you not realize who I am?” he asks, mouth set in a hard line, arousal temporarily superceded by annoyance.  
  
“Er, no? And I don’t care- no making out, just the fucking,” Darcy lied, chin stuck out in petulance.  
  
Loki captures the same chin in hand, pressing his lips defiantly to hers, lips moving so deftly, with such confidence, that Darcy’s self righteous resistance melts away, yielding to the expert shift of his lips against hers.  
  
“Lying is unbecoming, darling. I’ll pay for every cent of it- but put a little heart into it-“ he pauses, frowning.  
  
He did not know her name.  
  
Darcy sensed this, clearing her throat slightly, choked up by a lump of arousal.  
  
“Darcy,” she murmurs hoarsely, eyes still downcast.  
  
“Put a little heart into this Darcy- you can make this worth your while,” he purrs, his voice dropping an octave, purposefully acquiring that rich, shuddering timbre that left ladies wanting.  
  
Darcy was no exception and she swallows thickly, hesitating before nodding.  
  
He claims her lips again, possessive and hungry, slowly pushing her down onto the bed.  
  
He pushes down lower, her breasts, squashed slightly against his chest as he positions himself at her entrance.  
  
Darcy cannot look away, mesmerized, maybe even shocked.  
  
The men loved taking her doggy style- cow girl, reverse cowgirl- loving the heady sway of her breasts as she bounced on them, liking to slam into the plump swell of her arse, their hands clumsily palming her breasts as they pushed themselves against her.  
  
So this- this was new.  
  
“Oh,” she gasped softly as he pushed in, the tip slipping in easily, with both of them so heavily aroused.  
  
He lets out a soft grunt- she was hot, wet…tight. She _was_ new.  
  
He slowly eases himself in, pushing in a few more inches before stilling, eyes closed for a moment before opening up, staring down at her.  
  
Darcy’s eyes are fixed on the juncture where their bodies are joined, watching the thick slide of him push into her.  
  
“Look at me,” he hisses.  
  
She reluctantly drags her gaze up, this assignment far too personal already.  
  
She meets his bright gaze, and she’s stuck.  
  
His eyes were darkened, large and intense as his gaze bore into hers, his hips shifting as he starts to thrust.  
  
She tries to hold his gaze, but she cannot, eyes fluttering as she closes her eyes, letting out a loud moan.  
  
He was good. He felt so fucking good.  
  
All of the others- size and girth aside- were unskilled, horny, humping like crazed beasts.  
  
But him- he knew what he was doing.  
  
Loki shifted, trying to find the angle that would make her clench about him.  
  
“Legs around my waist.” He commands.  
  
She acquiesces without question, her legs coming about his waist, ankles hooking around his waist, eyes closed.  
  
“Eyes open- heart, remember.”he prompts, circling his hips.  
  
She lets out a soft whimper, before her brown eyes finally meet his, head on.  
  
Satisfied with her obedience, he starts to move, a delicious pace that makes them both writhe.  
  
“Loki,”  
  
Loki’s gaze snaps downward as she says it, her eyes closed, squeezed shut, mouth open in pleasure.  
  
There’s something about the way she says it that makes his breath catch, his hips stutter, said with a near reverence tempered with such unadulterated bliss.  
  
“Say it again. Say my name,” he murmurs, pushing his hips harder, more purposefully into her. “And open your eyes.”  
  
Darcy barely registers his words, focusing on the delicious feelings he was stoking in her.  
  
This was probably the first time she had enjoyed an assignment so much- he was hot, sexy and damnit, was he good.  
  
“Loki,” she gasps, eyes slowly opening as she reaches up to sink her short nails into his back, making his hiss, back arching, sinking deeper until he’s buried into the hilt.  
  
“You feel so fucking good,” she moans, eyes closing as she’s spread eagled under him, fingers tightening at his back.  
  
He cannot question the veracity of her words, because there is no room to do that, not when her voice is so low and wrought with passion.  
  
He can feel it in the way her legs tighten around his back, the desperate claw of her hands.  
  
She was actually enjoying this.  
  
This stokes his passion, making him snap his hips faster into her, moving to position himself higher, slamming into her at a new angle, making her cry out, hands tightening.  
  
“Loki…Loki- fuck, Loki,” she cries out, all inhibitions gone as she’s in too deep, too focused on how incredible he feels, how fucking incredible it was when he twitched, when he hit that special spot.  
  
She feels herself tighten, and forces herself to clamp herself tighter around him, spurring him on.  
  
Loki gasps at the new sensation, his pace thrown off as he groans, stilling for a moment before he starts again, moving with a new purpose.  
  
He never gave much thought to the release of the woman- preferring to pursue his own climax.  
  
But this time it’s different- it’s different because she’s staring back at him, eyes pleading and intense, her voice drawn tight with pleasure, her hands clawing into him.  
  
 _She wants this,_ he realized, feeling himself harden even more- if that was possible.  
  
And he shifts to position himself over that soft fleshy spot in her, pounding hard against it.  
  
This catches Darcy off, and she lets out a loud shriek of pleasure, whining as her arms tighten around him, pulling him closer.  
  
“L-Loki- please….please,” she keens, eyes falling shut, concentrating on the sensations.  
  
It shifts, building, receding, spiking- before she comes with a hard intensity, a loud whine of pleasure, clamping down around him hard as he thrusts erratically into her, his own release imminent.  
  
Her climax eggs him towards his own, and soon he finds himself twitching and spurting richly into her, the rhythymic clenching of her walls milking him of his release.  
  
Darcy gasps, eyes opening as he shoots into her- never has she let a man do that.  
  
But she lets him, unable to deprive herself of the intoxicating pleasure of him moving in her.  
  
But this is a time of firsts for them both, as they both unwittingly lock gazes.  
  
Darcy’s gaze telegraphs her pure pleasure, before it recedes, revealing something softer, something akin to vulnerability, affection.  
  
“Loki,” she murmurs, eyes finally fluttering shut as her hips buck up to meet his, the aftershocks of her climax prolonged by his.  
  
He watches, her mesmerized, unable to get the image out of his head- the way her eyes meet his, and the unadulterated affection reflected in them.  
  
____  
  
Soon, they are uncoupled, and Darcy’s pulling on her corset, slightly shaken and disturbed by the intensity of their encounter.  
  
Loki pulls out $800- $300 extra for the blowjob....and whatever else had happened.   
  
Darcy accepts the cash with a shaking hand, pausing for a moment before her eyes come up to meet his.  
  
She expects to see the same coldness from before, instead finding his gaze as probing and curious as hers.  
  
She hastily glances down before inhaling deeply, counting three bills and handing it back to him, curling his fingers around it.  
  
Loki glances up, confused, looking at her inquiringly.  
  
“You mentioned extra charge for extra services so-“ he started, trying to clarify, but she silences him with a raised hand.  
  
“Not…not a service,” she whispers, barely audible, as if finding it difficult to admit it to herself that perhaps that was more than an errant fuck for cash.  
  
Loki stills at her words, glancing down at the cash pushed back into his hands.  
  
“Darcy-“ he starts, opening his mouth to clarify, but she already gone, a flash of brown hair behind the back door indicating her departure, leaving nothing but the scent of warm vanilla and rumpled satin sheets in her wake, alongside a very perplexed, very mesmerized Loki.  
  
He needed to see her again. 


	2. False Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People all have different coping mechanisms. But sometimes, let's admit that coping is a polite word for equivocation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bowled over by the response to this.
> 
> Truly.
> 
> I was not expecting any hits over a hundred- and wow. Thank you.
> 
> I am flattered, and thank you so much for the kind comments and the warm reception to this. 
> 
> So, again- unbeta'd, all slip ups are my own. Please, be patient with this one.

**Chapter 2: False Catharsis**  
  
Darcy hastens back to the dressing room, an awkward running gait in her Louboutins, slamming the door behind her. She breathes in heavily, none of the self assuredness from before, her heart beat erratic as she leans against the door.  
  
Her eyes shut in embarrassment and mortification when she feels the hot trickle of his cum down the inside of her thigh, a slow hot run that reminded her of what just transpired.  
  
That….that wasn’t what she expected, at all.  
  
She takes a few moments to steel herself before she moves away from the door, slipping out of her heels and shoving them into her backpack.  
  
She practically tears off the corset, shoving on her jeans and beat up chucks, struggling to strap on her granny bra and pull on her raggy old band tee, needing to get into wear that was comfortable, familiar.  
  
She packs up, pulling her hair into a straggly ponytail and shrugging on her oversizes hoodie before heading out to the reception, praying that he was gone.  
  
He was, mercifully, but she was greeted by the tuts of the cattier girls, who gave her a derisive one over. She found Madam in the corner, smoking her usual, slowly counting hundred dollar bills with a practiced indifference, tutting at the numbers as she tallied the profits.  
  
She notices Darcy and sighs dramatically, setting the notes down and rising to her feet, shaking her head as she looked Darcy over.  
  
“What did I tell you about your attire huh, girl? We are running an _establishment_ here! You cannot go out looking like a crack runner!” she admonishes, hand extended, fingers wriggling.  
  
Darcy hands her three of the bills, getting a fifty back- 50-50- it was a good deal.  
  
She thought back to the $150 more she could have earned, but then…she shook her head, nodding hastily at Madame.  
  
“I’ll be seeing you, Madame,” she mutters, turning away.  
  
She pushes the door, knocking off for the day and leaving behind the memories of what could have been the awkwardest assignment so far.  
  
____  
  
She reaches her apartment, small, dark, but by no means dirty, just a tad messy.  She kicks off her shoes, peeling off her clothes to stand under the shower, needing the hot, weak tendrils of water to wash over her and give her time to think, to process.  
  
A part of her knew that she was being absurd. That was a one off encounter.  
  
Just a weird encounter gone wrong- no need to fuss over it, to obsess over it.  
  
She cussed as she reached for her favourite vanilla shampoo, a third of the bottle left, working it into her dark locks, trying to reason with herself.  
  
She couldn’t shake off the exasperation with herself, at her juvenile mentality, her tendency to hyperbolize and to read into every single detail.  
  
So a guy made eye contact- granted, intense, kind of muthafucking sexy eye contact- as they did the deed- no biggie, right?  
  
But yes- that was the precise problem- it _was_ a biggie, and it’s that nagging thought that makes Darcy rake her fingertips harder across her scalp, letting the slight sharp scratches ground her, finally washing it off.  
  
She reaches for her conditioner- another move out of character- and works it into the ends of her hair, giving her more time to mull in the shower.  
  
Eye contact. Big deal. That was the point of these gigs, right? To give them a chance to escape- to indulge their fantasies.  
  
There were the creepers who made her mewl “Daddy” as they took her, wearing pink lace. There was that guy who brought a whole pint of Sunny D, wanting to watch her piss. There was that freak who wanted to induce lactation.  
  
Guys got off on a crazy variety of things- what was a little eye contact compared to all of that?  
  
Darcy can still see him, his face, when she closes her eyes, letting the warm water wash over her.  
  
The way those dark wells of viridian bored into hers, smouldering with unadulterated lust, admiration…something else.  
  
She groans, rinsing off the conditioner, and quickly lathering some soap all over, trying to scrub the memory off her skin, her mind.  
  
She tries to get the soft sibilance of his gasp out of the shell of her ear, the way it mingled with the short, agonized grunts of pleasure.  
  
She scrubs a little harder, remembering the warm press of his fingers, those long, slim, elegant digits against her hips, a touch that started off cool, yet somehow setting off a swell of heat through her skin.  
  
Her hands dip lower, moving to wash off the dried cum, ignoring the thick slick of it as she gets it all of out- needing to detach herself.  
  
She moves out of the shower, needing to sleep it off, suddenly spent, troubled.  
_____  
  
Loki slips out of the brothel, a stolen treasure nestled in the pocket of his pants.  
  
She had left her underwear behind, and in a rush of impulsiveness- he had pocketed it before he exited swiftly, not taking a single back glance.  
  
He was an irascible man by nature, the strains of work constantly keeping him on edge, stoking his temper ever so often, leaving him on the cusp of losing his temper ever so often.  
  
But tonight, he found his mind particularly clouded, the encounter branded into his memory.  
  
He had had many of these girls- so why was this little chit any different?  
  
The Egyptian silk and the warm scent of menthol and sandalwood couldn’t drown out the memories of warm vanilla and spiced fruitiness, the divine touch of soft skin against-  
  
He lets out a grunt of frustration, burying his face into the pillow.  
  
______  
  
Darcy wouldn’t say that she’s a big fan of political science. Sure, she was doing her Masters in it now, with a focus on Comparative Politics and Political Thought…but she wasn’t “passionate”, as so many of these yuppies liked to put it.  
  
She liked how what she studied was current, relevant, logical- yet, somehow abstract, nebulous, with no clear answers.  
  
That was how life was like, wasn’t it? A strange pastiche of things that made sense and yet…didn’t.  
  
She sat at a different coffeehouse this week, needing something else to take her mind off her part time job.  
  
She had not gone back in a fortnight, neatly deflecting the texts from Madame.  
  
A portion of her psyche looked down on her inability to dichotomize- work was work, whatever happened during hours- was part of the job.  
  
But she couldn’t bring herself to go back after the first two days after her run in with Loki Odinson.  
  
She found herself glancing up when the other girls called for her- finding another face, another silhouette waiting for her in a dingy dark room- not the one she wanted.  
  
She knew that this was bad- her being incapable of managing her expectations.  
  
Like, shit son. She should _not_ be having expectations in the first place.   
  
But after the second day, one filled with a single, shitty fuck and yet more disappointment- she left and had no intention of going back anytime soon.  
  
So she found herself at a cute little bistro-coffeehouse type thing on one of the fancier streets- thanks Yelp!- needing a change of environment to scour her mind of all the unpleasant, dour memories.  
  
After a plate of smoked salmon eggs benedict and a small banoffee crumble, she feels a little less shitty. She’s currently nursing a large double shot caramel latte, and she feels almost _happy,_ as she peruses her readings for that week, an assortment of convoluted pieces on the Democratic Peace Theory.  
  
She takes a sip of her drink, letting the warm, velvety sweetness wash over her palate, calming her.  
  
Yep, that was it. That was precisely it- just a bad day. Like PMS, right? Have some good food, a hot drink, and everything was in running order.  
  
Darcy allows herself a small smile as she hums along to the music playing, highlighting and annotating as she goes through her work.  
  
_____  
  
Loki had a reputation for being quite the demon boss. He had heard juxtapositions to Miranda Priestly (whoever that was), how he was unrelenting, demanding and stern- a near ruthless slave driver.  
  
But the past two weeks were abject, thought his secretary as she tensed, relaxing when he walked past. Whatever happened at home was clearly eating at him, as if his sourpuss demeanour wasn’t bad enough with the announcement of the new board of directors.  
  
Loki leaves work early that day (much to the relief of his secretary) – needing to get out. It was Friday, and it had been two weeks since he met her.  
  
He went back the very next day, asking for the same girl, only to be told that she was already engaged.  
  
He kept going back- for an entire week, requesting the same girl-disappointed every single time.  
  
What was it with that girl- it was as if she possessed the divine capability of being the personification of the many things he found exasperating.  
  
Loki enjoyed getting what he wanted, and to be so blatantly denied of what he once had access to grated his nerves to end.  
  
Her absence aggravated him as much as her impudent quips.  
  
And yet, he would have paid an embarrassingly handsome sum if it meant another encounter with her.  
  
The sex was good, he reasoned. He enjoyed sentient lovers, receptive, pliant- willing.  
  
He doesn’t want to acknowledge the way she gazed up at him, radiating admiration, reverence- something akin to affection.  
  
He has had enough, and he wants to unwind, but since his usual form of extra curricular recreation was…no longer feasible, he found himself at one of those new, spangly coffeehouses down the street, eager for a cuppa and an opportunity to lose himself in papers that told stories, not figures or graphs.  
  
He sweeps into the entrance of the luxe, cozy coffeehouse, scanning for a seat, finding a single seat empty- that hideous, tattered backpack could easily be taken care of- with only one other occupant at the table.  
  
He freezes, recognizing the face at the table.  
  
He moves towards it silently, removing the backpack and seating himself in the quilted fabric seat, legs crossed as he appraises the familiar, dark haired face.  
  
___  
  
Darcy was on the verge of finishing that monster of an article- 40 pages, seriously?!- about political research and democracies, when some guy moves in, sweeping her backpack off the chair she perched it on.  
  
“What the hell- rude much?! Who gave you the right to- fuck,” she rails, faltering and falling silent when she realizes who had seated himself across from her.  
  
“Isn’t this….fortuitous,” Loki murmurs, sneering slightly, watching her with a raised brow.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too tedious to read through. A bit of a tease, I know.
> 
> There's alot that needs to be addressed, but this one is a little more of a transition chapter, and I felt the need to explore how each of them would respond to their little situation so- here we are.
> 
> I can definitively say that there will be a chapter after this (: and maybe another after that. 
> 
> Let's see how things unfold.


	3. Note on Chapter 3

After re reading Chapter 3, and seeing some preliminary feedback- I've decided to take it down.

Because I agree that   
1) it was pretty wrong  
2) never before have I been disgusted/afraid of my own writing  
3) it makes me as an author uncomfortable. 

it went straight from dub/non con into rape and :/ no

It's going to be hard for me to develop the story this way.

so to those who read the chapter- I'm sorry it was bad/actually quite distasteful.

I need to rework it.

This is what happens when you can't discern your own characters' profile well enough.

My apologies again.


	4. Frigidity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the actual chapter 3. 
> 
> Thank you to the people who commented on the PSA, I appreciate your kind words and the feedback- it's nice to know that someone is reading this, and not being cruel about things that diverge from expectation. 
> 
> I'm not saying this is a better version because I think that it's a tad stilted and messy. 
> 
> But it is a whole lot better than the first draft, so please, be kind.

**Chapter 3: Frigidity**

Darcy froze, her voice stuck in her throat as she glanced up at the intruder, her stylus falling out of her hand.   
  
“How…what the fuck,” she stammered, shifting back a little, oddly hesitant to be in such close proximity to him.  
  
“How eloquent,” he said snidely, leaning back into the chair, quirking a brow. “If I recall, you were far more verbose and witty with that luscious mouth of yours- why so coy?” he taunts, leaning forward, leveling her with his gaze.   
  
Her mouth is agape, widening slightly before she closes it, as if remembering where she was, who she was with.   
  
“No…no, you- this is not- no,” she stutters, her words a messy tangle of incoherence.   
  
“Truly, is a simple greeting so hard to manage?” Loki smirks, shaking his head, appraising her with a sweeping glance.  
  
She wasn’t wearing makeup, but had swipes of mascara on, tinted lipbalm. He noted with some surprise that he found her natural pallor equally- if not more, attractive than her dolled up, porcelain visage.   
  
“Please leave,” Darcy manages finally getting a hold of herself, lips thinning into a line, pursing as she glanced down.   
  
Loki raises a brow, settling back into the chair, as if to make himself more comfortable, crossing his legs. “Now, Darcy, that’s not very polite of you, is it?”  
  
“Look, I’d…let’s just, forget it, okay, let’s just not do this alright,” she gritted back, feeling small surges of annoyance and embarrassment at the way he was obviously lancing her, provoking a response.  
  
Loki tuts, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, still maintaining the intense eye contact.  
  
“Oh? You were quite game and receptive to engaging me the last time we met,” he says with a slight smirk, reaching forward to lightly trail a finger down her arm.   
  
Darcy snatches her arm away, feeling a slight prick of fear and annoyance at his action.    
  
“Look just….just go away okay? I don’t have to talk to you right now, and I really don’t want to,” she grits out, thinking of how to extricate herself from the situation.    
  
“Now, now, what did we say about lying? “ Loki responds with dramatized admonition, shaking his head slightly.   
  
Darcy inhales deeply, taking a moment to pace her breathing before she starts to pack her things, shoving her earpieces and iPod into the pocket of her jeans, retrieving her backpack and moving to move past him.   
  
He reacts quickly, rising gracefully and grabbing her by the elbow, turning her around to face him, tugging her forward towards him.  
  
“Now _that’s_ rather rude, don’t you think? We were in the middle of a conversation, Darcy,” he says calmly, a slight harsh edge to his voice.   
  
“You’re not my friend, you have no right to call me by my first name, or to speak to me at all- least of all about whatever you were just going on about,” Darcy grounds out, tugging her arm away to no avail. His vise was tight, almost painful.  
  
“But we’re already so well acquainted- I daresay being on first name basis is a small matter. Why, just the other day, you were screaming mine,” he responds haughtily, his lips curved in a triumphant smirk.  
  
Darcy’s cheeks flame and she glances away, humiliated.   
  
“Acting’s part of the job, bud.” She retorts, now annoyed. “It’s probably the only time you made any girl scream.”   
  
Now it was Loki’s turn for indignation, and it shows in the slight reddening of his ears, in the way his grip tightens.   
  
“Well then, perhaps I should pay you for the pleasure of being able to use your name then, Darcy,” he responds, voice now devoid of humour, dripping with derision.  
  
Darcy inhales sharply at the low blow, cheeks flaming hotter. She closes her eyes briefly, trying to collect herself.  
  
“What? No response from that clever little mouth of yours? Where’s your comeback, darling?” he taunts, shaking her arm slightly, fingers stroking over her wrist.  
  
Darcy’s stomach recoils, shuddering at his touch.  
  
Her eyes fly open, dark and glittering with humiliation, tears threatening to spill over. “Fuck you, Loki,” she hisses, forcefully tugging herself loose, “I don’t have to deal with this shit,” she pushes him aside before stalking out.   
  
Loki is caught off guard by the gloss of her eyes, not expecting her to be so upset by their encounter.   
  
But she was nowhere to be found amidst the sea of passing faces.  
______

 

Darcy hastens back to her apartment, slamming the door behind her and retreating to her room.  
  
She was well on her way to forgetting him, and he had to barge right in and-  
  
She groaned, moving to bury her face in her pillow, letting the soft warmth and darkness lull her into peace.  
  
She was trying to reconcile the warring emotions inside, how pissed she was that he was able to push her buttons and get to her with relative ease.   
  
How fucking annoying he was, so damned conceited and entitled, sitting there with his long ass legs and smooth perfect hands, staring her down.   
  
How _rude_ he was, saying whatever the hell he liked, whenever the hell he liked, just because he _felt_ like it.   
  
And how, beneath all of that, she had felt her stomach leap, a strange wringing knot- something that could almost be called excitement, in the pit of her gut at seeing him again.   
  
Despite the tense atmosphere, she couldn’t deny that she was almost excited to see him, that she was checking him out as much as he was checking her out.   
  
Because, ugh, _god-_ how could she not?   
  
As off putting as he could be at times, she couldn’t deny that the man was gorgeous, and his easy confidence and somewhat enigmatic behaviour...she groaned, feeling herself get more and more wet as she remembered when they first met.   
  
____  
  
Eventually, she has to return to work, because there were papers to write, and rent to pay- and she finds herself back at Madame’s, being shown into the room for her next client.  
  
He turns out to be a stout middle aged man in a battered suit who eyes her boobs appreciatively, stroking his cock through his pants, and she glances down, steeling herself before moving over, tugging at his belt.  
  
She hardly has time to undo the buckle when Madame bustles in, a blonde in tow.  
  
“Change of plan- Shellie will take him. You, come with me,” she beckons to Darcy, tugging her away from the portly little man who took to the blonde with equal fervor.  
  
Darcy follows Madame, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment- there goes her only job for the day.   
  
“You have another client waiting,” Madame tells her, leading her to The Paragon, and Darcy feels a strange sense of foreboding. It intensifies when Darcy notices the five hundred dollar bills clenched in Madame’s withered hands.   
  
She’s pushed into the room, the door slammed behind her, and she comes face to face with Loki.  
  
She pales, turning to the door, trying to open it, feeling her panic mount when she realizes it’s bolted shut.   
  
“He requested for extra privacy,” Madame called. “Have fun!” she greets as she moves off, leaving Darcy to deal with him once again.  
  
______  
  
“Darcy,” Loki greets, the top few buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, and he’s sitting on the bed, arms folded across his chest as he watches her try to get out.  Sighing, he rises to his feet, walking towards her.   
  
Darcy flinches when he comes close, and he pauses, stilling and standing about half a foot away from her, brow furrowed.   
  
“Why are you here?” she asks eventually, her eyes coming up to meet his, lips pursed.   
  
“ For the pleasure of your company of course,” he responds smoothly, a mild smirk on his lips.  
  
Darcy closes her eyes, inhaling sharply before she moves swiftly towards him, tugging at his belt buckle, undoing it as quick as she could, almost violent in her actions.   
  
Loki is thrown off and he actually steps back a little, only aggravating Darcy, who tugs him back, tearing his belt off and ripping his zipper down with a sharp tug.  
  
Loki’s hands find hers and he stills her movements, zipping himself back up and buttoning up, frowning at her.   
  
“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “Why are you so upset with me?”   
  
Darcy’s mouth is set in a firm line and she takes a while to collect herself before responding.   
  
“Because I don’t get you. You see me in public, you shame me because I don’t respond the way you want me to. And then now you’re back. And then the last-“ she catches herself, falling silent, not wanting to revisit the memory of the first time they were together.   
  
She didn’t want to discuss how he had stared straight into her eyes, his body and ministrations responding to her own pleasure. Nor did she want to admit that she had enjoyed it, that there was something else about their encounter that was nagging at her.  
  
“The last what?” he prompts, moving close again, a prick of relief when she doesn’t push him away or flinch.  
  
She shakes her head, reaching for his shirt buttons, deftly undoing them. “Forget it, okay. Let’s just…let’s just get this over and done with,” she mutters, pushing the shirt off of him.

Loki catches her wrists in a vice, and she tenses, looking up at him with slight hesitance, fear and he eases his grip, eyes closing as he slowly lets go of her hands, letting her do what she wants.   
  
She moves to hook her thumbs underneath the band of his underwear, yanking it, along with his pants down, and she moves to push him towards the bed until he falls back.   
  
She moves to sit by him, undoing the worn black lace bra she’s wearing today, slowly shimmying out of her undies.   
  
“How do you want me?” she mumbles, still not meeting his gaze.  
  
Loki glances at her, his expression still steely, hardening slightly.   
  
He moves to her, Darcy backs away slightly but doesn’t move away, and he takes her chin in hand with surprising gentleness, pressing his lips gently to hers.   
  
This gets to Darcy and she tenses, pushing him away, inching away from him.   
  
“No…can we…can we not. Please. I’ll blow you, deepthroat whatever- just….can we not,”  she stammers slightly, glancing away, annoyed at herself for being affected by such a simple gesture.   
  
Loki sighs, turning to face her, expression now somewhat pained, and even, if Darcy wants to put a name to it, slightly hurt.   


“Do you really find me that repulsive?” he whispers, fists curling as he glances down momentarily, before his gaze rejoins hers.   
  
“No,” Darcy blurts out immediately, surprising them both and she regrets it immediately.   
  
She doesn’t want to talk, to be confronted with living, physical proof of a memory that oddly enough meant so much to her yet pained her.   
  
“Fine. You want this? Fine.” She says suddenly. She lunges at him, pressing down onto the bed, her lips tight and insistent on his.   
  
There was no passion, just tense, hurried fervour. And Loki hates it.  
  
Loki hates that she doesn’t melt into the kiss, that those plump, luscious lips of hers are hard and unyielding, none of the divine softness from before. But he takes what he can get and he responds with equal fervour, hands moving to hold her waist.   
  
She reaches over to pluck a condom from the stand, taking charge this time, smoothly ripping the small packet open and rolling it smoothly onto his length before she impales herself on it and starts to move.   
  
It’s fast, frenzied, almost violent- but Darcy hates that a bit of her still enjoys it, that she’s still somewhat aroused by him- how couldn’t she be?  
  
Loki doesn’t like that she refuses to look at him, that she doesn’t let him take her at his pace, that she’s hurrying through this so she can toss him aside, like the latex barrier she had consciously chose to put between them this time.   
  
He knows she did it intentionally, wanting it to be nothing like the first time they had each other.   
  
But he cannot deny that she still feels good, great- and his sounds of pleasure are a strange cacophony of grunts and groans. He comes with a stuttered thrust, and Darcy grinds down on him before she clambers off, not even bothering to seek her own release.   
  
“Thanks,” she says curtly, dressing herself in her bra and undies before she’s slipping into her heels, moving out of the now unlocked door, leaving Loki more frustrated and alone than before.  
  
_____  
  
Despite the paltry, mildly upsetting encounter, Darcy is grateful that Loki came by.   


She’s not entirely certain how much he paid “for privacy”, or if he was expecting a blowjob or something else, but she gapes when Madame hands her $800, and she accepts it wordlessly.   
  
This would cover so much for the month, and as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, it was thanks to Loki’s (obstinacy) patronage.   
  
____  
  
She leaves feeling a little better than before, pushing the memory of their stilted, cold encounter out of her mind.   
  
She plugs into her iPod, picking some chirpy pop trash hit off the list before she heads down the street towards home.  
  
She barely made it down the street before she stills in her tracks, glancing up at the tall silhouette in front of her.   
  
“Darcy,” Loki said calmly, leaning against a pole, lips pursed, expression solemn.   
  
“Fuck,” she mutters, pulling out her earbuds, gaze never leaving his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw their dynamic going into 2 distinct directions, and this was the other.
> 
> This is distinctly more fluffy and in my opinion, slightly departs from reality. But that being said, it isn't a very far stretch, and it's reasonable, without being excessively contrived.
> 
> I really hope it wasn't too shit or sappy. 
> 
> I am open to comment and feedback, but again, be nice. 
> 
> This is an exercise in developing my ideas and writing, and perhaps also an opportunity for some of you to derive pleasure from it, but that being said, it is a hobby, and it's hard to reconcile pleasing an audience with writing what I think is valid and decent. 
> 
> So I do enjoy involving my readers in this, but I do appreciate courtesy and respect for certain plot decisions I make. 
> 
> This is a touchy topic for me, because of bad encounters in the past.
> 
> And yes, this will continue, no cliffies.


	5. Candid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me, and it's a little long.
> 
> Also, you might find this a tad cliched or cheesy- and I agree.
> 
> But that being said, just because it's both of those things doesn't necessarily mean it's not sincere or realistic, because I do think that at the end of the day, fancy writing and good plots aside, people can be predictable, people can be vulenerable.

**Chapter 4: Candid  
  
**

 

Loki had dressed himself, his release not at all cathartic or calming, the encounter leaving him more upset than anything.  
  
Perplexed.  
  
What was it about this girl?  
  
Granted, she was attractive, that was a given. Curvaceous, plump lips, beautiful full breasts, mesmerizing sky blue eyes that had such an intelligent lucidity about it- it was more than that.  
  
It was her boldness, her insolence, the way her breath hitched when she said his name- when she did, the way she couldn’t lie- he smirks a little at that, a small bitter smile as he shrugs his blazer on.  
  
The way she would avert his gaze, lips bruising a tad when she lied to him.  
  
How could three, brief encounters with this girl be so enchanting, so riveting?  
  
He needed to speak to her. Not meet her, to fuck her until she’s moaning his name in blind pleasure- no, he needs to speak to her.  
  
Because for the first time in a long while, Loki needs to hear the truth for himself.  
  
And that’s why he finds himself, car parked by the sidewalk further down the street, staring down at the small girl who stared up at him with thinly veiled apprehension.  
____  
  
Darcy stares up at him, the lulling rhythm of her music abruptly halted by the strange jarring silence of reality.  
  
“Were…are you stalking me?” she blurts out, brows furrowed, a look of incredulity spreading across her features as they scrunch up, and she takes a step back, cautious.  
  
“Was I waiting for you?” Loki corrects. “I’m certain you already know the answer to that.”  
  
Darcy inhales sharply, glancing down. “Look….can...I’d really like to just go home. I’m tired and-“ she stops speaking when he pushes off the pole, moving towards her, standing barely half a foot away from her.  
  
“I’m sure you are,” he responds a bit too smoothly, causing her jaw to drop, about to retort but he holds up his hands in surrender, shaking his head. “I mean no disrespect or anything else…I just...I’d like to speak to you, Darcy,” he states slowly, keeping his gaze trained on her, careful not to be too intense with his stare.  
  
“What are we doing now then?” Darcy asks sharply, lips in a thin line. “Okay, shoot. I really want to go home.” She says tersely, arms crossed across her chest, leaning her weight onto one leg, staring up at him expectantly.  
  
“Actually, I was hoping for…a more private setting,” he responded, lips pursed, brows raised hopefully.  
  
Loki was often lauded as a silvertongue- a moniker that praised his elan and eloquence and his…other...skills- but mostly his admirable capability to weave words with such ease and elegance.  
  
Yet he finds himself horrifically ineloquent around Darcy, and this response proves to be the wrong one, causing Darcy to sputter in indignance, fists curled.  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she spits. “Where did we-“ she fumes.  
  
Loki’s hands are raised again, shaking furiously, trying to appease her.  
  
“I…I just mean to speak to you,” he responds slowly, keeping his tone even and calm, not wanting to provoke her any further. Clearly, he wasn’t in good stead in her books, he did not want to jeopardize that any further.  
  
“I really do mean to just…have a chat with you. There is a nice coffee house nearby…we could go back to the one before-“ he offers, suddenly finding himself slightly panicked.  
  
“Why?” Darcy says bluntly. “What’s so pressing that you need to get me alone, one on one to chat? Why couldn’t you have said it before?” she continues, sighing and checking her watch.  
  
It was getting late.  
  
She was hungry, tired, somewhat upset and not at all keen to be dragged into something with him. Least of all him.  
  
Loki could sense her urgency to leave him, her mood and he straightens up, steeling himself before speaking again. “Darcy, please. I would…I would appreciate a bit of your time. Let me take you to dinner. Please, just…just an hour. Forty five minutes. Just a little of your time.”  
  
He’s pleading now, he’s painfully aware of that, recognizing the desperation in the way others address him, but now, he knows he has to resort to it, because he’s losing her.  
  
Darcy’s stomach chooses that very opportune moment to rumble and she sighs, running a hand through her curls, and Loki’s eyes latch onto the action, noticing, not for the first time, that she had such shiny, healthy hair, falling over her shoulders in loose, easy cascades, glinting auburn and copper in the warm sun of the late afternoon.  
  
This doesn’t go unnoticed by Darcy and it catches her off. Guys stared at her tits all the time, but they seldom looked at her like this, with an expression almost akin to affection.  
  
Maybe she’s tired, or just really, really damn hungry but she sighs, hand wringing, and Loki knows that he has her.  
  
“My treat. Just…just a bit of your time. Somewhere convenient, nice fo-“ he speaks quickly, but Darcy holds up a hand to silence him.  
  
“No. We’re not going to any of those fancy schmancy places, I get to choose.” She retorts.  
  
Loki nods hastily, glad that he has made some sort of headway in this conversation.  
  
She pauses, thinking before pointing behind him. “Just a street down, there’s a nice burger joint. I’d like to go there. I’m starving and I really want a burger,” she states, glancing up at him, challenging, fairly certain he wouldn’t be at all keen on the idea.  
  
Loki glances in the direction she points in, his expression morphing into that of a grimace when he spies the establishment she had singled out.  
  
“Benny’s Burger Bar? Truly, Darcy, there are nicer places that serve gourmet burgers of equit-“ he protests, arms folding.  
  
Darcy rolls her eyes and starts to push past him, causing him to panic, abandoning all attempts at protesting, hands coming up to bar her exit.  
  
“Alright, alright- Benny’s Burger Bar it is,” he relents, hands raised.  
  
Darcy smirks, beckoning for him to follow her and she moves towards the joint, trying not to be overly conscious of the fact that he was walking just by her, hands tucked into his pockets.  
  
She throws surreptitious glances up at him, studying his beautiful profile, his striking patrician features and alabaster skin, glowing warm in the evening sun, quickly looking away if he so much as turns his head.  
  
Damn this man for being so damn attractive.  
  
___  


They arrive outside the burger joint, a generic place that surprisingly wasn’t too shabby when they actually entered, Loki thought, as he held the door open for Darcy, stepping into the joint.  
  
He expects the smell of stale naphthalene to greet him, surprised to smell a remarkably elegant citrus scent in the air, mingling with the smell of beef being caramelized on the grill.  
  
The joint wasn’t rowdy, like he expects, but there is a lively hustle about the place, the quiet sizzle of meat hitting the heat in the background.  
  
Darcy fetches her wallet, before she tosses her bag unceremoniously into a booth, and Loki winces when it slams into the seat with a loud thud. Darcy shrugs, heading towards the counter to order.  
  
“Double bacon cheeseburger, hold the mayo, give me the guac, BBQ on the side, curly fries and a triple chocolate milkshake,” she orders, reciting her usual by heart.  
  
The guy behind the counter laughs, keying in her order. “Bad day huh,” he says with a chuckle, familiar with how her orders corresponded with her moods.  
  
“You have no idea,” she mutters, reaching into the her wallet to pull out a note. (yes, singular because bitch only had hundreds right now, thanks Loki.)  
  
She’s about to hand the note to the cashier when Loki’s hand reaches out to stop her, grabbing her wrist and lowering it.  
  
“Please. Since it was on my request for your presence, it is only right that I-“ he begins, drawing out his own wallet, which causes Darcy to roll her eyes, smacking his hands away.  
  
“Bitch please, I am rolling in the deep right now. Thanks to some idiot earlier on,” she says pointedly, giving him a raised brow. “I’m a ton richer- like $800?- so I can handle this,” she says callously, flipping her hair over her shoulder and handing the cash to the cashier who laughs, keying in the amount and fetching her change.  
  
“Still selling crack huh?” he jokes.  
  
“Damn straight I am,” she says with a wink. “Who needs milkshakes cos that’s what brings all the boys to the yard,” she says with a grin, grabbing her number tag and stepping back, letting Loki place his order.  
  
But he doesn’t.  
  
He stares up at the menu overhead, scrolling through the couple of chalkboards flanking the menu, unable to decide, his confusion plain on his features.  
  
Darcy gapes at him before laughing, shaking her head.  
  
“Seriously? Just…go with the classics, they won’t fail you,” she offers, too amused by his dumbfounded expression to really recall who they were and what situation they were in.  
  
Loki doesn’t acknowledge her, brows furrowed.  
  
“Okay you know what- the same for him, Pete,” she interjects, pushing past him. “Same sides but hold the milk-“  
  
“No fries. Sweet potato fries. Not regular fries,” Loki interrupts, breaking out of his reverie to amend his order.  
  
Both the cashier and Darcy gape at him.  
  
“Dude, the fuck. How fancy are you? Who _doesn’t_ pick curly fries over sweet potato fries?” she sputters incredulously.  
  
Loki disregards her dramatics, ordering a hot rooibos vanilla tea, much to the amusement of the cashier who mumbles something like “damn hippies” as he fetches Loki’s tea.  
  
“Whatever, I’m going to wait for my food,” Darcy mutters.  
  
  
___  
  
They settle back into the booth, Darcy happily slurping away at her milkshake, Loki sipping his tea as he watches her.  
  
Their food soon arrives to break the short lived, fragile silence between them and Darcy grins at her plate, grabbing a fry and dipping it into the sauce, pleased.  
  
Loki gapes at his burger, flabbergasted at the size of the dish.  
  
“You can finish this entire thing?” he mutters, eyeing the burger skeptically, his disgust thinly disguised.  
  
Darcy rolls her eyes, grabbing a napkin and nestling her burger in a carefully woven bunch of them, taking a big bite.  
  
“Ofh khosh,” she mumbles through a mouthful, chewing through a mouthful of juicy char grilled meat and guacamole, her mood lifting significantly.  
  
She watches him pick at his burger, flicking off the sesame seeds absently and she rolls her eyes, pushing the plate towards him, startling him.  
  
“Ugh. Rich kids. Just try it,” she grounds out, after she’s done chewing, nodding at him.  
  
He watches her take another large bite out of hers, her gusto infectious, and he sighs, relenting.  
  
He picks up his fork and knife, cautiously sawing through the bun and the meat, the guacamole, the roasted tomatoes and the onions and sauce, not wanting to admit that as messy as that looked, it did look quite appetizing.  
  
Darcy watches, amused, as he eats the wedge of burger, chewing carefully.  
  
The shift in his features is nearly imperceptible, but Darcy doesn’t miss the small moan of pleasure, the way his jaw muscle jumps as he chews a little faster.  
  
Soon he’s cutting into the burger again and she laughs, shaking her head.  
  
“Told you,” she taunts, sipping at her milkshake.  
  
“What’s so nice about these anyway?” she asks, looking at his sweet potato fries, reaching over to grab one, popping one into her mouth, eyes widening almost comically when she tastes it.  
  
“Fuck, that’s good shit,” she gasps, taking another, and Loki laughs, actually laughs.  
  
“Well then, I daresay we’ve both had a lesson in appreciating alternative tastes,” he teases and they chuckle, glancing down.  
  
Darcy gnaws on a fry, glancing up at him and is transfixed when she finds him looking back at her, the ghost of his smile still on his features and she realizes why they’re there again.  
  
She clears her throat, swirling her fry in BBQ sauce.  
  
“So um….what did you want to talk about?” she prompts, still not looking up at him, only stealing glances.  
  
Loki falters, shoulders hunching a little as he cuts into the burger-already half gone.  
  
“I….um…,” he stammers, his speech halted, the way it always is around her.  
  
She looks at him expectedly, brow slightly furrowed in confusion.  
  
He takes a sip of his tea, letting the warmth of it calm him before he speaks again.  
  
“The last time we met…at the coffeehouse,” he starts, and she tenses, pausing as she’s about to bite into her burger, then taking a large bite chewing.  
  
“Mhmm,” she mumbles.  
  
“Why…why did you leave? Why were you so upset?” he murmurs, dropping his cutlery to gaze up at her.  
  
Darcy puts her burger down, her appetite temporarily gone, and she folds her hands in her lap, fiddling with the hem of her top.  
  
“Darcy?” he prompts, his tone almost gentle, his gaze still trained on her.  
  
She feels an odd tightening in her chest at how _nice_ he sounds, how earnest and pleasant his voice could sound when it wasn’t wrought with derision or hurt.  
  
“I was pissed, okay. Like….ugh. I went there to cheer myself up because-“ she stops short, realizing she cannot reveal why he was the reason she was being indulgent in her self pity but she clears her throat, continuing.

“I was upset. Bad week. And then you came in, rubbing my..my job in my face and being a dick. Like geez, as if I’m not already conscious of the fact I literally have to whore myself out to pay my rent,” she mumbles, shoving two fries into her mouth, chewing grumpily, sighing and crossing her arms, glancing away.  
  
Loki sighs, running a hand through his hair. Of course.  
  
He takes several more sips of his tea, with Darcy shoving more fries into her mouth, not before coating each one in a generous layer of sauce.  
  
“Darcy,” he begins, with a sigh, sitting up, “I won’t presume to understand how your life goes, what you go through- but…you have every right to be upset. That was...unbecoming of me. And I apologize,” he murmurs, glancing up at her, his gaze seeking hers.  
  
She glances up sharply when he apologized, not at all expecting it and she studies his face, trying to see if he’s toying with her, if he’s just trying to tell her what she wants to hear, and she’s satisfied when she finds nothing but earnesty.  
  
“It’s…it’s fine,” she mumbles, sipping at her milkshake, her fries almost gone, a small quarter of her burger left.  
  
“Well. Thanks for dinner. Technically you paid for it anyway,” she mutters, laughing bitterly, rising to leave.  
  
Loki stands up immediately, a hand held up.  
  
“Please….Darcy, please….can…can you stay?” he asks, the tone of pleading in his tone now evident.  
  
Darcy’s bag is already slung over her shoulders, and she was about to step out of the booth when she meets his eyes, finding that glint of desperation and it strikes something in her.  
  
She cautiously nods, numbly sitting down, placing her bag down, picking up another fry to eat.  
  
__  
  
A few moments of silence pass between them before Loki speaks up again.  
  
“I….I asked you out today…the reason why I sought you out…was because…you’re…capt…you’re captivating,” he manages in a stilted tone, fumbling for the right words, knowing that this peace between them was still tenuous, fragile.  
  
Darcy’s brows furrow at that statement. “What…what do you mean?” she asks, her tone not unkind.  
  
“I…I’m drawn to you,” he admits, glancing up at her, eyes intent, intense and boring into her.  
  
“I have been from after our first encounter when…when we…” he gestures with his hands, awkwardly and she nods mutely.  
  
“I…you…you were something else. And when we were together it was…it wasn’t what I expected, “he starts. And when he does, he doesn’t stop.  
  
“I’m afraid… that I cannot succinctly express what you do to me. That…that visit, I’ve never had anything quite like it. With anyone. There’s something about you I just can’t quite place my finger on, and it’s been driving me delirious, because I simply cannot comprehend…what transpired between us,” he confesses in a hushed voice.  
  
Darcy listens in, her heartbeat spiking when he starts to stutter, her own breath hitching momentarily.  
  
 _It’s not just me, he felt it too. He **felt** it too. _She thinks to herself, pursing her lips and gazing down.  
  
He sees her inner battle telegraph on her features and he stops talking, glancing at her worriedly.  
  
From the way she avoids her gaze, her pensive gaze- he’s almost certain that she felt it too.  
  
“Darcy…you…I’m not alone in this, am I?” he nudges, his voice even more quiet now. “You…you felt something too, didn’t you?”

  
Darcy falls absolutely silent, her hands stopped fidgeting and she just stares down, completely mute.  
  
“Darcy, please,” he pleads quietly, needing to hear an answer, any answer.  
  
She takes a moment to steel herself, her heart beating a hot wet staccato in her chest.  
  
“I did. I felt it too,” she mumbles, reluctantly dragging her gaze away from the small weaving of her top to meet his gaze.  
____

 

She regrets it, and yet she doesn’t, because now she cannot look away, and she’s totally transfixed as he stares back at her.  
  
This continues for a few beats, before she looks away, the intensity of their wordless dialogue too much for her to handle.  
  
Loki clears his throat, sitting up. “Would…would you care to have some after meal coffee?” he enquires, knowing it was a pathetic attempt to secure her company just a little longer.  
  
It’s because she’s stupid, and so ridiculously mesmerized that she accedes, nodding wordlessly at his request, and they both stand, moving out of the burger bar.  
  
The sky overhead is a dappled canvas of dirty ivory and translucent slate, an imminent storm on the cusp of ripping through the fragile tranquility of the skies.  
  
“Let’s take my car, we can go somewhere nearby,” he offers, and she nods, not at all in a mood to contradict him or protest.  
  
Once they settle into the car, a crack of thunder following the slamming shut of their doors, they sit in complete, deafening silence, the hum of the empty car ensconcing them.  
  
It is awkward yet not, with a strange electricity thrumming through the air.  
  
Darcy turns to look at him, to find him already looking at her, his expression inscrutable, his eyes locking with hers.  
  
“Darcy,” he murmurs, his voice hushed, and he closes the distance between them, gently pressing his lips to hers.  
  
She gasps, not because she is upset, angry, but because she’s shocked, at the soft earnesty of his lips pressed against hers, the way his hand caresses her throat, her cheek with an unparalleled gentleness.  
  
It’s too much to handle and she pulls away, eyes welling with tears and she gasps, reeling, turning away.  
  
“Oh god, oh god,” she chants, hands fisting in her jeans as she tries to process how they got here.  
  
Loki was lost in the way her skin feels under his touch, but his wonder is cut short when he hears her gasp, when he feels her pull away and he finds her sniffling.  
  
“Darcy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just-“ he tries, unable to come up with an excuse. “That…that was too forward..I…I’m sorry,” he tries, desperate.  
  
She doesn’t look at him, just hiccupping, sniveling slightly as she gazes down at her hands.  
  
She’s struggling to grasp the gravity of her situation, the way he looked at her in a way that made her feel invulnerable, flawless. How his touch made her feel like iced china, delicate, reverent. How he actually seemed to care.  
  
“N-no, that was stupid of me, I’m sorry, “she blubbers, hands swiping at her face to clean her face.  
  
He sighs, moving to draw her into his arms, pulling her into a hug- an act that catches both of them off because they both know, in spite of their short period of acquaintance, that this was uncharacteristic of him.  
  
“Darcy, please, don’t…don’t be upset.” He murmurs, holding her close to him, hand gently rubbing soothing circles into her back.  
  
She responds in a manner that surprises them both. She lets him hold her, because she’s tired.  
  
She’s tired of being manhandled and tossed about, of being overlooked. She’s tired because it has been a long day of equivocation, of running away from emotions that she inevitably had to confront.  
  
So she lets him hold her and she leans into his touch, burying her face into his neck, sighing at the warmth of him, the delectable cool scent of him.  
  
He welcomes this, angling his body to receive her, and he continues to hold her, acutely aware of the fact of how incredible right it felt, startled that holding another in your arms could make you feel safe, content.  
  
She shifts, her hands shifting to his chest, before she slowly pulls away to gaze up at him.  
  
He feels her shift and he gazes down at her, eyes scanning her face anxiously to see how she is.  
  
“Loki,” she mumbles, admitting to herself that she likes saying his name, how it feels heavy, familiar and warm when it rolls off her tongue.  
  
Loki makes a sound of assent, gazing down at her, looking at her curiously.  
  
She hesitates, hand unconsciously stroking his chest, an action that makes his heartbeat accelerate, that makes it tighten in the best way possible.  
  
Her hand shifts to caress his throat, feeling the flutter of his pulse, the tendons in his throat tensing slightly before relaxing under her touch.  
  
Her hand shifts to hold his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek briefly before she carefully presses her lips to his, sighing when they make contact.  
  
He feels a leap of shock and joy jolt in his gut and he holds her a little tighter, reciprocating with unequivocal fervour, a hand moving to thread through her hair, holding her close, his own lips insistent and fervent against hers as the sky rips open outside, a torrent of rain blanketing the city in a veil of flurried grey, concealing the pair from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's nice, no? Fluffy, and a little more pleasant than the usual pace.
> 
> Though I must say-I'm tempted to end it here. 
> 
> Because I feel like if I go into detail, shit will hit the fan because reality is a bitch and there will be alot for them to handle.
> 
> But yet...ugh, I know this could go somewhere too.
> 
> I'll give it some thought. I hope you liked it though!
> 
> ALSO: i now have a tumblr: http://lexicalacuna.tumblr.com !
> 
> So drop by to say hi, offer (constructive and polite) feedback and yeah- it's my fangirl outlet for my OTP, and also a way for me to interact with you guys. I also might post one-shots and (badly drawn amateur) fanart there. Hope to see ya'll there ^_^


End file.
